


Shatter Me

by raining13



Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Cuphead and Mugman die, Gen, excuse me shatter pardon my non-formal language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-10 23:33:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13512081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raining13/pseuds/raining13
Summary: A burning question I just had to answer. Basically, how do the bosses react upon "breaking" the cup brothers? I'll explain it more in the first chapter. Also, if you haven't already noticed, I'm going to be spacing chapters by Isle, rather than by character. I found that character chapters were way to short to have their own chapters.





	1. Introduction

The citizens of Inkwell  _knew_ who Cuphead and Mugman were. The two boys were friends with everyone, how could they have  _not_ been? They were friendly and kind, even if Cuphead could be a little blunt sometimes, and even if Mugman was a bit shy. The two of them were friends with practically everyone, sans the Casino staff, of course.

Nobody expected the two little mugs to come and ask for contracts.

The Devil had screwed them over. What was the harm in protecting what was theirs? They could scare the cup brothers off easily, the two boys would be bawling and bruised, running back to Elder Kettle. They only meant to give them a warning.

What nobody expected was for the cups to fight back.


	2. Inkwell Isle One

_CRACK!_

The boys were on the ground now, and Moe and Weepy couldn't quite tell what was wrong until Psycarrot turned around to face the others, terror stricken. His hands were shaking, he looked as though he were about to cry. He looked as though he couldn't believe what had just happened, what he had just done.

And he couldn't. The other two vegetables could see why as they scooted over slowly. They knew cups were fragile, they knew porcelain was easy to chip, to break, to  _shatter_. But Cuphead and Mugman...this was different. They were  _children_. They knew that Elder Kettle would never forgive them if they came to tell him. The old man would surely die of heartbreak, or, if not, burst into tears at the sight of the two mugs, which he held so dearly to his heart, with large portions of their faces missing.

Moe backed away in horror, Weepy held back a sob, and Psycarrot...he looked absolutely  _mortified._

"Wh-what do we do?" Weepy whimpered, tears streaming down his face despite the onion's best efforts.

"Yeah, what the hell do we do?!" Moe yelled, mostly in panic but also in frustration. "Psy?!"

"They're dead," Psycarrot said simply. "This is irreversible. There's nothing we  _can_ do."

The vegetables looked at the small fragments of porcelain scattered across the ground. Weepy burst into tears, unable to hold it back anymore. Moe consoled him, but inside, he, too, was crying. And Psycarrot?

He stood there all day, all night, looking at what he had done. He blamed himself. He had broken those teacups, those fragile beings held together by only trust and kindness, and both of those were fine strings. Kindness had unraveled because of the Devil, and Psycarrot had broken whatever was left.

And now, standing there in the dirt, he didn't trust himself, either.

* * *

The blue blob could only stare at the damage, tears streaking down his face, fist clenched. The same fist that had broken the two cups.

In retrospect, he should have seen it coming. They were children, fragile enough as it was, and, to make matters worse, they were porcelain mugs. Goopy could only think of two things more fragile than porcelain, and those were flowers and jello, and neither of those would've made him the slightest bit happy at the moment.

He stared, in shock, at the milk that had spilled out after the cups had shattered. He  _knew_ these kids, they were some of the nicest he had ever met. Sure, Cuphead was a bit snarky, and Mugman could be curious to the point of obnoxious, but those traits only made Goopy like them more. And that, right there, was what made the sight even more heartbreaking.

In all honesty, he was glad they had broken so early on. He wasn't even the strongest person on the island, much less the entirety of Inkwell. Who knows what kind of horrible deaths the cup brothers could have suffered if not for this.

Still, it was a morbid thought, and Goopy was disappointed in himself for even thinking it. He shook the thought away, and got to work.

Goopy had never been to a memorial. He didn't really know what traditions there were when it came to death and departure and all that. But he made do with what he had. He dug a small hole in the ground, just big enough for the brothers to lay there, side by side. Goopy made sure that they at least  _looked_ like they were holding hands, before burying them.

He had never been a huge fan of flowers, but he picked a bundle from the forest and placed it, as gently as he could, on top of the small mound of dirt where Cuphead and Mugman now rested.

* * *

The Clip Joint went silent, the only sound being the deafening  _CRACK_ that was now bounding across the walls. Several patrons gasped or cried out in shock. Ribby screamed, mostly in surprise. He screamed once more in greater volume, this time out of horror. A few employees had to usher people out of the way, so that nobody stepped on what used to be Cuphead and Mugman.

Croaks could only stare in disbelief at the milk that now covered his gloved hands. It wasn't just his gloves that were covered in it. The floor was a mess. The employees only pushed the porcelain remains into dustpans and then tossed the chips into the garbage, as if the entire ordeal hadn't affected them at all. It probably had, Ribby and Croaks thought. Everyone around here knew the cup brothers.

Ribby only stared at his brother, in disbelief and horror. He looked much older than he had a few seconds ago, the creases in his face were more pronounced, and his cheeks were shiny with fresh tears. Croaks felt as though everyone were watching him and no one was watching him at the same time. He felt empty, yet he was on the verge of tears.

The joint was emptying now, the patrons either speechless or in tears as they exited. The frog brothers could only stare at what they had done, knowing that it was by  _their_ hands that the two mug children were now shattered.

Shattered as in  _dead_.

Dead as in  _never_ coming back.

"What was...what was your favorite thing about them?" Ribby asked, sniffling. Croaks smiled bitterly.

"Their smiles," he answered. "They were so determined. So brave. They knew what they were up against, and yet..." He flinched as he felt something wet roll down his cheek. He wiped it away, knelt down next to the remains of their friends, and closed his eyes.

"I liked how kind they were," Ribby said finally. "They were always willin' to help people. They really were."

They both knelt together, tears mixing in with the milk on the floor, in silence for the rest of the week.

No customer came in the entire time.

* * *

Hilda was enjoying herself, even as the plane's bullets prickled against her skin. She readied her arms, again, to make another whirlwind. It came flying towards the brothers, and for a moment, she could see both of them.

She heard something that made her freeze. She recognized the sound immediately, and judging by the smoke coming from both the red and blue planes, she hadn't been incorrect. Both planes were now falling out of the sky, and her eyes went wide with terror.

She dived down through the clouds, trying desperately to catch up with the falling objects. There were only seconds, no, less than that before the jets would hit the ground, and then she would be too late-

_BOOM._

She pulled up, still high up in the sky, and could only stare in horror at the smoke cloud that rose up into the air. Her thoughts were scrambled, heading in each and every direction, and she flew to the ground in a rush.

_No, no, no no nonononono-_

Parts of planes and chips of porcelain were scattered on the ground, and the world seemed to spin as Hilda reverted back to her human form. Her eyes were wide, tears streaking down her cheeks, her hands were shaking. She made her way through the rubble, already knowing what she would find.

She saw Mugman first, his arms limp, but he looked as though he were still trying to hold onto his seat. The goggles had slid down his face, likely because most of his face was now obliterated. She saw one last breath leave his chest, and then, she knew, he was gone.

Out of the corner of her vision, she saw Cuphead.

Hilda whipped her head around, and her eyes found him, just barely inching out of his cockpit. She could still see that one of his eyes was intact, but the glass from the windshield of the plane had stabbed him right in the chest. His arm broke out from underneath him, and he fell to the ground, his only remaining eye unfocused and glassy. She knew that he, too, wasn't coming back.

She had no idea what to do now.

This was  _her fault._

* * *

Cagney had never really known his true strength. He could control the flora around him, he always knew that, but he never knew that his vines were strong enough to shatter porcelain.

He heard the brothers shattering before he saw it. And before he saw it, he  _felt_ it, too. Porcelain chips cut into his stem, and he cried out in pain, trying to regain his bearings. He looked down at the small droplets of green blood that started where the chips hit him, still unsure of what had just happened.

When he saw what had cut his stem open, he knew.

"Wait, no, that's not possible-"

It  _was_ possible, he reminded himself. The brothers had  _always_ been fragile. What had he been thinking, fighting them? He knew they were breakable, he knew they would have never been able to beat him, yet as soon as the boys had put up a decent fight, he had acted as if the Devil himself was trying to steal his contract instead of a couple of wimpy kids.

His hands were big enough to cradle the blue one in one of his palms. He heard Mugman whimper a little before the flower felt the little cup go cold. He held the red cup in his other hand, and he heard the boy mutter something he couldn't hear.

"What?" said Cagney desperately. "Please, say it again, you two can't just-" He stopped as he felt Cuphead's hand blindly reach for his own. Cagney took it as some sort of way to say "come closer," and he followed, hoping he could, at least, save one of the cups.

"D-Don't hurt...Mugs," Cuphead breathed, barely audible, but it was just loud enough for Cagney to hear. A tear slid down his face, and just like that, Cuphead, too, went cold. It was as if Cagney held a block of ice in his hand.

He could barely hold the tears back now, and he cried, silently, barely able to breathe. He could taste something salty in his mouth. He could barely even  _see_. He was angry and cold and devastated and terrified and shocked and he had broken them, he, out of all people, no one would ever forgive him-

 _No_ , he thought solemnly.  _I have to let them rest._

He placed the cups, as gently as he could manage, onto the soil beneath him, and scooped up a hand full of dirt. He placed the dirt carefully onto the brothers' chests, then laid a hand to the miniature mountain that now stood before him. He felt something blossom under his palm, and he lifted his hand to find a tiny rose, just barely peaking out of the dirt.

It would suffice, he supposed.

If only he had about a dozen more.

 


	3. Inkwell Isle Two

The Baroness's castle-like beast immediately slowed upon impact with-

Well, Bon Bon didn't know  _what_ , but the castle had crashed into something. She had felt it. And whatever that particular  _something_ was, it was incredibly fragile. She immediately thought it was one of her jellybean soldiers, the poor things. They really  _did_ try their best, and she squished them regularly underneath her own heels (on accident, of course), but she knew it couldn't be helped. She still felt bad every time one was squished, though.

Instead of the remains of a jellybean, however, she found the remains of a cup.

 _Two_ cups.

Immediately, her eyes went wide with horror. She pulled on the whipped cream-like reins of the castle, and it slowed to a complete halt. She rushed down through the interior of the castle, terrified of what she would see if she stepped outside.

Upon seeing the cup brothers lying before her, or really lack thereof, she put both hands to her mouth in order to restrain herself from sobbing. A tear ran down her cheek, and then a couple more, until she couldn't hold it back anymore. She burst into tears, kneeling over the brothers.

She didn't know which version of the truth was more heartbreaking.

 _They_ were too young. It could've been someone else.

They  _were_ too young. They were gone now.

They were  _too_ young. They could've been older, still young, but less fragile.

They were too  _young_. They weren't old enough to die.

She decided on the last one, hugging the bodies of the former cup brothers close to her chest. They really  _did_ try their best, but she knew it couldn't be helped.

What made her feel worse was the fact that it was  _her_ fault.

* * *

The sun beat down on Djimmi, making him sweat as he dropped to the sand. Normally, the sun would've made him rejoice. He  _belonged_ out in the sun, it was his home, even if the sun in question was an illusion created by himself. In normal circumstances, he wouldn't have even been sweating.

If only these were normal circumstances.

He'd known that children were fragile. Heck, he'd known that the two mugs were fragile, but that still didn't stop him from putting up a real fight. He knew he shouldn't have been fighting them, but there was a logical reason.

That reason being that they had attacked him in planes, loaded with bullets and bombs, shooting at  _him_.

And even as he had pulled out his treasure box of tricks, they didn't back down. He admired them for that.

But now, looking at the small, broken planes, he dissented it. If only they weren't so brave, maybe they wouldn't have posed a threat. If only they had given up, maybe their jets wouldn't have fallen out of the sky. If only they weren't made of porcelain, maybe they wouldn't be so easy to damage.

If only.

If only they hadn't been shattered.

There were so many "if only's," Djimmi couldn't count them all. If only illusions were reversible. If only he didn't blame himself for what he'd done. If only he weren't so  _stupid_. If only  _he_ weren't so stupid.

The illusion of the desert faded away, leaving the interior of the tent that was always there after closing hours. The only thing that didn't fade was Djimmi himself, and the shattered remains of Cuphead and Mugman.

* * *

Beppi had to smile.

He was a clown, it was right in the description. Pick up any dictionary and look up the word "clown." A comical, silly, playful person. Even when not in costume, he was just that.

He didn't feel comical, silly, or playful at the moment. There were better words to describe how he felt. Words that would've _really_ described his current emotions. Maybe horrified, guilty, anguished, bitter, dismal, heartbroken, melancholy, mournful, he could make an entire list if he had the time or effort handy.

Sorry would definitely be on that list somewhere. In disbelief was another.

He really didn't know how to describe how one felt after, essentially, murdering someone. He could think of a hundred words to describe what he'd done, too, but there was only one word to really capture the essence of what had just happened.

Cuphead and Mugman had just been  _shattered_.

Yeah, that felt like an appropriate word.  _Shattered_.

Beppi had to smile.

And yet, he couldn't. Only stare at what he had done in disbelief, heartbreak, melancholy, anguish, horror.

He couldn't bring himself to smile, so instead, he brought himself to tears.

* * *

High in the sky, it was easy for Wally to get carried away. Having a short temper didn't really help.

So he immediately felt something was terribly wrong when he saw the little planes, which had just been smack dab in the middle of his field of vision, falling from the sky.

His heart fell into his stomach, having nothing to do with the fact that he was diving down through the clouds in order to reach the brothers. He heard his son yell something, but his ears were ringing so loudly that he couldn't hear. Even if they _weren't_ ringing, he didn't think he'd be in the mood to listen to whatever Wally Jr. had been saying.

He pulled up only moments before the cups crashed to the ground. He had a greater maximum velocity than they did, but it only spared him a few seconds to react before the jets hit the ground. Smoke rose up to meet the clouds, and bolts flew in each and every direction.

"Dad?" Junior yelled again. "What's going on? Why'd we dive so far?" Wally could see only his son's beak, but he could already imagine the confused but nervous face he would've been wearing. Wally didn't respond, he could only stare, in disbelief at the pile of scrap that was once two planes.

"Dad?" Junior said again, this time in less volume. Wally wasn't looking at the boy, but he could tell his son was fluttering only a small distance from his face. "What...what happened to them?"

Tears had already run down Wally's face, and he shook his head solemnly.

"Go...get inside the house," Wally muttered. Junior barely heard, but he nodded and followed.

Wally would never forgive himself for this.

* * *

"What...wh-what did I j-j-just do?!" Grim yelled, tears gushing down his face. "What did I d-d-do?! I didn't m-m-mean to!"

"I...I k-k-killed them," came a response. Grim didn't have to be Sherlock Holmes to know that it was one of his other heads. "We...w-w-we killed them."

He had, affectionately, named his two other heads Match and Stick. As far as names went, he wasn't very creative.

"N-N-No! We couldn't have...w-w-we couldn't have killed them, that's i-i-impossible," Grim cried. His constant stuttering did nothing to hide his terror. The rain that was currently falling from the clouds seemed to slow down immediately, only leaving a slight drizzle. The cup brothers laid on a single cloud, limp and cold. Grim couldn't hold back the sobs that were threatening to escape his throat.

"It was  _entirely_ p-p-possible!" Stick yelled. "We kn-kn-knew it, and w-w-we still put up a fight! Why...why d-d-did we..." He trailed off, his head hung low in sorrow and shame.

"Forg-g-get it," said Match, half angrily, half defeated. "They're g-g-gone."

There was complete silence for a bit, and Grim realized that now, he was alone. His other heads had faded back into virtual nonexistence. Crying was much easier done alone, he thought, nobody was there to make fun of you. He didn't really think anyone would have made fun of him for this, though. They would've either consoled him or been infuriated, depending on who it was.

So he sobbed, wheezing and choking on his own tears. He couldn't control himself. He just cried and cried against the stone wall of his tower. He couldn't forgive himself, no matter how much he reasoned, in his head, that it wasn't entirely his fault. He knew the truth, or really, he thought he knew the truth. It was all him, his fire-breathing despite his most logical thinking, his fighting despite the clouds being so easy to fall off of.

_I'm stupid, I'm so darn stupid, it was all me, mY FAULT IT'S ALL MY FAULT-_

He had no idea what to do now. Was he supposed to get them to someone who could help? Bury them? Bring them to Elder Kettle? Nothing? He was torn between his decisions, and he finally decided, for now, that it couldn't be helped.

He could no longer do  _anything_ for them.


End file.
